


Ordinary Kate

by orphan_account



Series: Kate [1]
Category: Castle
Genre: 1x09, Episode Tag, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-07
Updated: 2011-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>She mistakes them for vagrants at first glance.</i></p><p>Speculation stemming from one line in 1x09.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ordinary Kate

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to say this takes place about two years before the pilot, but I found it a little hard to get the timing exactly right. Please excuse any irregularities...

Kate passes the line on her way to a crime scene at some godawful hour of the morning.  She mistakes them for vagrants at first glance.  Why else would they be sitting on the sidewalk wrapped in sleeping bags before three o'clock in the morning?  The sheer number of people lined up against the walls makes her look twice and it's then that she notices their clean, healthy faces.  There is no sign of malnourishment or an inability to wash regularly.  Their sleeping bags are good quality camping gear and many of them have folding chairs, books, mobile phones and other luxuries.  There are travel mugs, thermos flasks and Starbucks cups; MacDonalds bags, cooler boxes and takeout packets.  Somebody even has a little camping stove set up outside a small tent.  The smell of baked beans mingles with the stench of traffic in the early morning gloom of the city. 

 

Is that against the law?  Kate isn't sure.  She wonders vaguely if there's a giveaway or a sale starting in one of the stores on this block.  She's lived in the city long enough to have seen these lines before.  Occasionally her job requires her to walk the streets at an hour when any sane person would be asleep in bed.  She can't imagine choosing to brave the elements for anything less than murder, but apparently some people will go to any lengths for a bargain. 

 

As she walks along the block the line seems endless.  It's like they're camping. There's a camaraderie among the group. People are sharing torches and lanterns, chatting jovially as they pass their flasks down the line. She doesn't want to think about what they're doing for toilet breaks. 

 

She draws level with the front of the line and its purpose becomes clear.  The first person is nestled comfortably into the doorway of a bookstore, beneath a poster displayed prominently on the glass.  They're queueing for a book-signing.  They're such dedicated fans that they want to be first through the door when the bookstore opens, so that they can be first in the line that will form at the table where the author will sign copies of his most recent book. 

 

It just so happens that she is a fan of this particular author herself, but she couldn't compete with these diehard fanatics.  Part of her wants to mock them for their dedication while another part of her wants to join them so that she too can be near the front.  Yet another part of her is itching to arrest every one of them for cluttering the sidewalk. 

 

Then Kate rounds the corner and hits the crime scene head on. The line outside the bookstore is forgotten as Detective Beckett engages with the investigation.  The murder in question is almost disappointingly mundane, although she feels guilty for even thinking that.  It's still murder, still the wilful destruction of one human being by another human being.  It's a tragedy and a travesty, regardless of the fact that it's an open and shut case with none of the quirks of one of the weird ones.  

 

Later, the gloom of the morning evolves into an afternoon drizzle that clings to her coat and frizzes her hair.  Kate finds herself back at the bookstore, slipping into position behind a group of giggling blondes.  The line ahead of her snakes between the shelves, hemmed in by crowd control barriers.  It is long, but probably shorter it was earlier in the day.  

 

She's been a fan of Richard Castle's work for a while now.  She's read and re-read every book in print and pre-orders the new releases as soon as they become available.  She belongs to several Castle fansites as well as subscribing to the Official Richard Castle newsletter from the Official Richard Castle website.  Although she doesn't like to admit it to herself, let alone to others, she's a serious fan.  

 

Yet somehow this is the first time that she's had the opportunity to get a book signed.  As the line inches forward she tamps down the anxious butterflies in her stomach.  She has a tendency to get starstruck when meeting her heroes and she knows she won't get to talk to her favourite author for long.  Perhaps if she plans out what she intends to say, she won't spend the whole of the brief encounter completely tongue-tied or blabbering like an idiot.  

 

She'd like to tell him how much she enjoys his books.  She'd like to explain how they got her through her mother's murder, how they gave her somewhere safe to escape to when the real world was too hard to face and how they're still the place she turns to after a tough day.  She'd like to tell him how grateful she is that he helped her to understand why people do bad things.  At a time in her life when she could have drifted and spiralled into the depths of darkness, his words helped focus her desire to become a cop.  Is it melodramatic to say that he changed her life? 

 

"He changed my life," giggles one of the blondes in front of her.  "Like, literally." 

 

"I'm going to tell him I'm his biggest fan."  The second blonde is fussing with her hair and make-up while the third holds a copy of the book upside down, blatantly ogling the author photo on the back cover. 

 

"He's ruggedly handsome, isn't he?" 

 

The first blonde adjusts her low cut top until she's only inches from an arrest for indecent exposure.  "Do you think he'll sign my chest?" 

 

Kate tunes out the giggling and preening and goodnatured bickering.  She likes to think that she has more brains than the group ahead of her and she certainly has no intention of asking for an autograph on any part of her body, but when it comes to the basics she's no different to the rest of the legion of Castle fans.  Why would he care about her experiences?  Every sucker in this line probably has a sob story that they're desperate to share with the great author.  No, she decides, it'll be enough just to meet him and to get his signature on the book. 

 

The queue inches forward again.  Her feet are throbbing and a glance at her watch reveals that it's been an hour already.  She doesn't care.  She wouldn't go so far as to sleep on the streets like the hardcore Castle groupies, but she'd stand in line for hours for the chance to meet Richard Castle.  As she passes what she's sure is the halfway point her phone bleeps with another text from Will, asking if she's done yet. 

 

She taps out a quick reply, almost identical to the one she sent him half an hour ago.  _Nearly. See you at the restaurant in a bit_.  She knows she's in for some teasing when she arrives late for their date, but Will understands how much this means to her.  

 

The line shuffles forward again, and then suddenly she's at the front, standing before the table looking down at the man who saved her life.  

 

He looks up at her, a charming smile on his face as he holds out a hand for the book.  "Good afternoon."  He pauses, pen poised over the title page.  "To whom shall I make it out?"  

 

She knows she's staring, possibly gaping like a fish, but she can't help it.  "Kate."  She wants to say more, something profound and memorable to make herself stand out from all his other fawning fangirls (especially the blondes who are still hovering nearby), but all sane thoughts seem to have left her head.  

 

He glances up with a smile as his pen finishes the 'e' in her name.  "That's a lovely name, Kate."  

 

It's a trite comment, probably just something to say, but she appreciates it anyway.  Kate has never been particularly enamoured with her name.  She doesn't hate it, or even dislike it, she just finds it a bit ordinary, maybe even a little boring.  It's better than her full name though.  "It's short."  _For Katherine_ , her mind screams, but the message doesn't seem to make it to her tongue, and the sentence hangs in the air incomplete.  

 

He makes a show of counting the letters. "Hmm, I suppose it is." 

 

She could kick herself.  She knows she seems like a tongue-tied fool but there's nothing she can do to change that.  

 

"Nothing wrong with a four-letter name though."  He actually winks at her, and her knees weaken.  "I go by Rick myself."  Completing the message with his name and a flourish, he closes the book and hands it back to her.  "Enjoy it, Kate." 

 

"Thank you."  

 

And then it's over and he's looking to the next person in line.  

 

She walks away slightly dazed, her hands clutching the book tightly.  Before she knows it she's back out on the street and heading for the subway.  

 

She stood in line for two hours (she'll lie to Will and tell him it was only one) but the encounter itself was barely five minutes.  The whole process seems like an assembly line.  Although her name is written inside her copy of the book in the author's own hand, it's impersonal.  Everyone who stood in that line received the same thing.  It's almost disappointing.  Almost.  

 

The brevity of the moment does nothing to dampen the warm glow that she feels each time she remembers that she has met Richard Castle and exchanged words with him (even if the words in question make her cringe from embarrassment).  

 

He signs hundreds, thousands of books. 

 

That doesn't stop her from lifting her own book reverently from the shelf (more often than she is comfortable with admitting) and opening it to the title page.  It doesn't stop her from running her fingers lightly over the black ink letters, tracing his name and his message to her.  

 

Though she continues to devour his books, Richard Castle himself becomes less of an object of desire now that she's met him.  She's aware of his playboy reputation, disapproves of his page six exploits and tells herself that she can love the books while not liking the author (and conveniently forgets that she's always had a soft spot for bad boys).

 

But his books are always the place she runs to when she needs to escape. 

 

It's convenient that she's over him (or so she tells herself) when she finally has a legitimate excuse to talk to him.  Detective Beckett will not blather like an idiotic fangirl.  It's different anyway, when it's business rather than pleasure.  She marches into that party as a cop, not as a fan.  Her personal admiration for his writing takes a back seat to her professional annoyance at having to deal with a man like Richard Castle. 

 

It gives her a thrill though.  Taking Richard Castle, _the_ Richard Castle in for questioning.  Knowing that she's no longer just another ordinary fan.  He'll remember her now, for a while at least, and the thought makes her smile with satisfaction behind her hand. 

 

Not that she'll ever let him know that.  

 

 **End**

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the "wilful destruction" quote from Poirot. Sorry.


End file.
